


Sleep is for the Weak

by LittleUggie



Series: Pack of Strays [5]
Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Ears, M/M, Will's Dogs are People
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleUggie/pseuds/LittleUggie
Summary: Buster stays up late.





	Sleep is for the Weak

**Author's Note:**

> Four down. Three to go. Will, you have too many dogs.

Buster isn’t an insomniac. In fact, he actually has a better sleep schedule than several other pack members he could name, because he has a tendency to go until he, sometimes literally, drops. Usually someone can steer him to a mattress before that happens. However, tonight he is not sleeping. 

This is because he is on a mission. 

Okay, mission might be overstating it a little bit. Okay, okay, a lot. But it sounds way cooler than sitting up to see if his alpha has gotten home yet. It is going on one in the morning. Will had gone for dinner at his boyfriend’s house. So far every time he had done so he had gotten back before eleven, but not tonight. 

It is vitally important that Buster knows when he gets back. Ellie had bet him five bucks and next pick at movie night that the alphas wouldn’t ride the bone train for at least another month. If Will didn’t get home until morning, Buster would have proof that their weirdly celibate leader had finally got some. 

Buster flops on his bed dramatically from where he had been peering out the loft window. Max, on the other side of the divider, is dead to the world. Buster had tried to get him to stay up with him, but he wasn’t interested. 

“Not a good enough reason to sacrifice my precious sleep.” He said. Hmph. Just for that he was going to make him watch Snakes on a Plane again when he won the bet. 

Bored he clicks around on his laptop for a bit, then gets up and goes downstairs to make a cup of coffee. Everyone had refused to teach him how to work the machine (you do one backflip off the couch after downing a Redbull, and suddenly the world is against you), but he had seen Will and Jackson do it before, how hard could it be? 

Well, it would be easier if they had coffee in the barn. All he can find is some of the weird smelling tea Zoe likes to drink. To the main house, then! Not bothering to put on shoes, he jogs the short distance between the buildings. The porch light is on, awaiting the still conspicuously absent Will. Buster grins. Way to go  _ jefe _ .

The inside of the house is dark. His ears twitch, picking up only the sounds of the house settling. His feet are cold so he hurries on in. Stopping by the washer and dryer, he pilfers a pair of fuzzy pink socks. Probably Ellie’s. Ooooh, soft. He slides across the floor ala Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Then he remembers why he came up here in the first place. Coffee. Yes. 

He goes into the kitchen and eyes the coffee pot. Water goes in the glass pitcher thingy, right? He is sure he has seen people filling it with water at the sink. Okay. He does that. Then….filters. Where are filters kept? He opens up a couple of drawers and some cabinets. Aha! There they are, on top of the fridge, along with the red Folgers can. He reaches up, on his tip toes to grab the items. 

And drops the can of coffee which spills out all over the floor.  _ Mierda _ . Let’s hope no one heard that. Ellie is scary enough without being woken up. He sweeps up the spilled grounds into the dustpan and pours them back into the can. There. No one will know. The perfect crime. 

He turns around to put the broom back up and jumps nearly a foot in the air to see Winston standing in the door to the kitchen. 

_ “Dios mío, chico, me has asustado. Haga algo de ruido cuando camine o use una campana. _ ” He just barely kept from shouting, remembering that whispering is a good idea at one in the morning. 

Winston blinks at him, eyes a little bleary. He looks at the coffee can, and then at Buster. 

“It’s not what it looks like?” 

Winston looks unimpressed. 

“Well, you don’t drink it. I bet no one else will even be able to tell.” 

The younger boy shrugs, then moves over to the fridge. He pulls out the milk jug and a bottle of chocolate sauce. Buster hops up on the counter (which he has been asked repeatedly not to do,  _ joder a la policía _ ), and watches with interest as Winston pours the milk into two mugs, pops them in the microwave, stops it before it can beep, and squeezes in a generous amount of chocolate. He stirs vigorously then hands one of the mugs to Buster. It’s really good. 

“Too bad we don’t have any marshmallows.” 

Winston nods in agreement, chocolate staining his upper lip. For a moment there is just the sound of slurping as they enjoy their hot cocoa. 

“Did I wake you up?” Buster asks. 

Winston shakes his head. 

“You were already awake?” 

Nod. 

“Do you make hot cocoa at night a lot?” 

Winston holds a hand up and tilts it from side to side. 

“Only sometimes?” 

Another nod. 

“Does Will know?” 

Winston looks out the kitchen door into the living room. Will’s bed is just visible. Winston would have to walk by it after coming downstairs. He looks back at Buster. 

“Yeah, okay. He’s not exactly the heaviest sleeper either, I guess.” 

Winston shrugs. Then he looks down with interest at Buster’s feet. He wiggles his toes. 

“Could play some good sock hockey in these.” 

The boy looks confused. 

“Oh man, you never played sock hockey?” 

Winston shakes his head. 

“Come on, let’s find you some socks.” 

He goes back to the dryer and rustles around until he finds another pair of the fuzzy socks, these ones with blue and white stripes. He hands them to Winston then finds a plain white one that he folds up into a ball. Then goes and gets two brooms. 

“Alright, you use the brooms to push around the sock, and you have to slide after it like you’re skating, see?” He demonstrates, sliding around the hardwood floors of the living room. Winston grins and follows him, wobbling only a little. 

“Let’s set up some goals. Hmm.” He rolls the rug in front of the couch up so they would have more room. “Ok, you try to get the sock between Harley’s chair and the end table, and I’ll try to get it between the desk and the bookshelf. Ready?” 

When Will quietly opens the door at six thirty-five the next morning, he is not as surprised as he should be to find Buster and Winston piled in a nest on the floor with what looks like every pillow in the house. The number of socks strewn about is odd, but Will decides he would rather not know. He steps carefully over them, yawning. Grabbing some clean clothes out the dresser, he goes to the bathroom to change. He’d had a little too much to drink last night, and Hannibal had graciously allowed him the use of his guest room. 

He heads into the kitchen, setting two chocolate stained mugs in the sink and starting a pot of coffee. He’s just pouring himself a cup when the two boys come in, heavy limbed and eyes drooping with sleep. 

“Late night, guys?” 

Buster grunts, then sits up suddenly, ears at attention as Will takes a sip of his coffee. The alpha looks at him quizzically.

“Something the matter?” 

“No-uh-no.” He looks at Winston who has laid his head down on the table. The young lupine sticks his tongue out. Buster makes a face back at him before turning to Will.    
“So,  _ jefe _ , did you have fun last night?” He waggles his eyebrows meaningfully. Will rolls his eyes and starts making breakfast. 


End file.
